“Budge over.”

Hermione’s voice startled him and he quickly closed the book then nodded toward the opposite side of the library table.

“Sit over there.”

“No.” She leaned down so as not to be overheard. “I want to sit next to you.”

“Oh for the love of …” He had barely gotten his bag out of the way before she sat down next to him. “Do you mind? I wanted some privacy.”

“Harry Potter, you’ve been avoiding us all week: getting up early, coming back to the tower late at night, disappearing between classes.”

She touched his hand, the one covering the book. “What’s wrong? Does it have something to do with Professor Snape?”

Harry immediately cast a Muffliato, “You heard the announcement, same as everyone else. He’s got that flu and has to stay in his quarters.”

“Oh stop with the flu business. How is it that you’re all right now, but he’s still sick?” She noticed the partially hidden book. “And I don’t believe that the Headmaster is at a conference either.”

Harry made to slide the book into his bag but the inquisitive witch quickly Accio'd it to her. “What’s this?”

“Hey, give that back.”

She read the title: ‘The Journey from Breakdown to Recovery.’

He snatched the book and shoved it into his book-bag then turned and glared daggers at Hermione. “Don’t you ever say anything about this to anyone, or I’ll never talk to you again.”

She hadn’t seen him this worked up since that night in the Shrieking Shack when he yelled at Sirius. “What’s wrong? What kind of breakdown is the title referring to?”

“You’re awfully nosey Hermione, y’know that? It’s none of your business!”

“I’m sorry! I’m just worried about you.” She tried to hold his hand but he snatched it away.

Hermione sat frozen with her hand hovering above where Harry’s had just been. Obviously she had crossed a line — and she knew it. But she also knew that he needed a friend.

“Listen, I said I was sorry. I had no business looking at your book. I apologize.”

Harry turned away from her. The truth of the matter was he did need a friend; he needed someone to talk to because he was worried sick.

He’d gone to Madame Pomfrey to see if perhaps she could give him an update on Severus’s progress. But she said she couldn’t discuss the situation with him, something having to do with doctor/patient confidentiality.

“Hermione … do you know anything about doctor/patient confidentiality?”

“What does that have to do with …?”

“Would you for once in your life just answer me and not ask any questions?”

She could see now that he was trembling. “Oh Harry.” 

Reaching the end of his rope, he sort of just sank where he sat. “Please just tell me what it means.”

Hermione wanted to give him a big hug but she knew that Harry would never stand to be fussed over. “Well, doctor/patient confidentiality is the principle that states that an individual or institution cannot reveal data to a third party.”

He stared at her a moment but then looked away. “That’s why she won’t talk to me,” he mumbled to himself, “she thinks I’m just a third party.”

“Who thinks you’re a third party? What are you talking about?”

Harry grabbed both of her upper arms in frustration. “I. Can’t. Tell. You! Can’t you understand that?”

His actions shocked her and she leaned back defensively, “Fine Harry! You’ve made your point, but whatever is going on here is making you crazy. Look at you! You’re a mess. You have to talk to someone.”

Hermione began to tremble also, but out of frustration with Harry.

He started to repeat that he couldn’t talk to anyone, but she cut him off, “There is someone you could talk to, someone that by law could never repeat a word of what you said … to anyone.”

“Oh yeah? Who would that be?”

She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, “Helena.”

~~~~~SH~~~~~

Solomon Priestly stepped from one of the spacious commuter Floos lining the far wall in the Atrium and was immediately surrounded by the chaotic hustle and bustle of the numerous Ministry workers Flooing home after a long day’s work.

He stretched and inhaled a deep breath of the familiar scents. Home.

“Solomon old boy, I thought you were up north, teaching.”

The tall wizard turned in response to the familiar voice. “Ah Merritt, good to see you,” and he wondered for what seemed like the hundredth time what had ever possessed him to think he could survive a year surrounded by students. “I’m only here this evening for a meeting.”

“What a pity; the place just isn’t the same without you.”

That comment only ground home the fact that he should have never acquiesced to Dumbledore’s plea to teach.

“So? How is Hogwarts?” asked the stodgy old wizard.

A myriad of adjectives sailed through Priestly’s mind, and as much as he would have loved to stand there and bash the entire nightmare he’d been living the past month, he knew that if he didn’t hurry, he’d be late for his meeting. “It’s all right, I suppose. You know, I haven’t been there in decades, but the castle still looks the same. Not much has changed,” he responded despondently. “Listen, I really must get going or I’ll be late.”

“You’re a better man than I, Solomon.” His coworker waved then toddled off to the Floo. “Don’t be a stranger!”

Solomon nodded then headed for the annex. He hadn’t gone but thirty feet when another voice called out.

“Priestly, is that you?”

Bathed for a moment in his perceived notoriety, Priestly turned and was suddenly taken down a notch by the approach of the auburn haired Eurasian. “Oh, hello Channon.”

“What brings you to the Ministry?”

“I’m here for the meeting,” Solomon clarified.

“I had a feeling that might be the case. That’s where I’m headed.”

Priestly noted the warded casement clutched in the young Unmentionable’s hand. “Is that it?”

Channon’s only acknowledgement was a smile and one raised eyebrow. “Come on, we’d better hurry or we’ll be late.”

“I doubt there’s much they could discuss until you arrive.”

“You have a point.” He then nodded in the direction of the annex and the two wizards fell into step as they headed down the length of the Atrium.

“So how’s the semester going for you?” asked Channon.

“I suppose all right.”

“You don’t sound very convincing.”

“Perhaps,” Solomon left his vague response — hanging.

Channon tried to fathom how Solomon, or anyone for that matter, couldn’t absolutely love spending time at Hogwarts teaching Defense to all of those children.

“You’re not enjoying yourself?” he asked incredulously.

Priestly glanced at the young wizard beside him. For a long while now, he’d been in awe of Channon Jackson — the youngest Unmentionable to be taken into the department in centuries. But the fact that he was indeed young just didn’t sit well with Priestly.

“I suppose I’m simply not accustomed to spending much time around … children.”

“Well, at least you get a chance to work with Harry,” Channon added brightly. “It must be a treat for you to work with him in tactics.”

“Not really.” Solomon slowed his pace, “Actually, I’m not working with him at all.”

Channon stopped in his tracks. “What do you mean?” He held his hands out to his sides. “But you’re his instructor.”

“No, I’m not,” Priestly said in a terse voice. “Albus and Severus are his instructors.”

“Why is that … exactly?”

 “Mr. Potter and I got off to a bad start.” He lowered his gaze, “I suppose I didn’t handle the situation as well as I could have.”

“And?” Channon pressed.

“Albus modified Mr. Potter’s and my teaching arrangement,” Priestly finished with a soft voice.

“I see.” Why didn’t Harry mention any of this during my visit? Channon wondered. A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

It was Kingsley Shacklebolt standing in the doorway to the conference room waving at them to ‘hurry up.’

Channon bit his lips, vacillating whether or not to interfere. “Solomon, would you mind staying after? I’d like to continue our conversation.”

All of this went against his very grain. Solomon Priestly did things by the book. Using this method had always worked perfectly for him. It was only these blasted children and that incident with Potter that didn’t — wouldn’t fit into his ordered approach.

“Solomon?”

“I don’t know what good would come of discussing it.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Channon placated, “but I’d still appreciate just a few minutes of your time.”

Solomon glanced over at Shacklebolt whom was waving more insistently now. “Oh all right.”

~~~~~SH~~~~~

They entered the small conference room just as Shacklebolt sat down at one end of a large Birchwood table. Situated to his right was Nymphadora Tonks and John Dawlish; Solomon immediately went to join the two Aurors.

Across from them sat Remus Lupin, Arthur Weasley and his son Bill. The only seat left was the one on the side opposite Kingsley Shacklebolt. Channon walked over and sat there.

With everyone situated, Shacklebolt pointed his wand to close the door then warded it and cast a Muffliato.

“Thank you all for coming. I first want to extend the Minister’s apologies for not being able to attend this meeting. He is rather engaged with matters regarding the recent escape from Azkaban.”

He glanced around to all those assembled; no one seemed to mind the absence of the Minister. “Right then, you all know why you’re here …”

“Excuse me Kingsley,” interrupted Arthur, “but where is Dumbledore?”

“He’s unable to attend this meeting due to a personal commitment, but he does send his regards and his vote of confidence that we will be able to handle matters.”

The black wizard looked at the expectant faces, “Now if there aren’t any other concerns, I’d like to address the matter at hand.” He focused his gaze on Jackson, “You may proceed.”

Channon cleared his throat, removed the precious parchment from its encasement and then stood to address those assembled.

Ninety minutes later, all in attendance were fully briefed as to the location and layout of the manor. They then formulated and settled upon a plan of operations to seize the edifice. With the wards now deciphered there was nothing to stop them from mounting a full on attack.

Shacklebolt would act as Incident Commander and liaison to the Minister. Tonks would head up the Logistics with Dawlish as back-up and Priestly as tactics advisor. Remus was assigned the post of Operations Leader with Bill heading the Ground unit. Arthur gladly took on the job of organizing the Support Branch.

With leaders now assigned to each division, they simply needed to pick a date.

“So when can all of you have your troops assembled and in place?”

A hum filled the room as the Aurors and Order members discussed the logistics involved, then they looked tentatively toward each other from the opposite sides of the table.

“In two days?” offered Remus.

The three Aurors nodded their heads. “We can do that.”

“All right then,” confirmed Shacklebolt, “have your troops assembled at the assigned location in the Glenballyeamon valley at 0900 hours this Sunday. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” they all replied.

~~~~~SH~~~~~ 

Harry closed the door and leaned heavily against it as he stared at Helena, whom had already arrived and was sitting in her usual chair.

She always took the one facing away from the window, something about daylight being unforgivingly revealing. None of that made sense to him, but the sight of her blue eyes and compassionate smile washed over him like a panacea.

“I fixed you a cup of tea,” she nodded to the side table as she hid her reaction to his appearance, for Harry looked utterly frazzled: pale and with dark circles under his eyes.

He dropped his book-bag next to the door then walked over and sank heavily into the chair facing the window.

As Helena waited in silence for Harry to sip some tea, she wondered what on earth could have possibly happened since she’d last seen him. Whatever it was, it had been traumatic, for he hadn’t looked this bad since the summer when she’d first started working with him.

When he set down his cup and settled back in his chair, Helena began their conversation. “Hard week?”

“I guess you could say that.” He placed his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his forehead on his outstretched fingertips.

She waited.

“I don’t know where to start.”

Helena smiled. “Just pick one Harry.”

“I knew you were going to say that.”

Again — she waited.

“Okay,” he laid his head against the back of the chair. “Scared to death.”

That was a bit more then she’d expected, “All right. So what is it that has you scared to death?”

“First, I have to ask you something.” He tensed, as if he were bracing himself to tackle something monumental. “Is what I say to you ...?” He tried again, “Is it true that you can’t say anything about …?”  This was proving harder to do then he’d expected. “Have you ever heard about doctor/patient confidentiality?”

Her eyebrows peeked with surprise. “A time or two … yes.”

“Hermione told me that you can’t repeat anything I tell you, but I didn’t believe her.”

Helena straightened her blue robes. “She is partially correct. Anything you tell me in our sessions is confidential, as long as what you reveal does not involve an illegal action or self harm. Other than that, I am legally bound not to discuss the content of our conversations with any person or any institution … ever.”

A team of emotions began to well up, hiding just beneath the surface of his expression, and it seemed to Helena as if Harry was about to shatter.

“What’s wrong Harry?”

“It’s happened again, just like my parents and Sirius.”

“What’s happened?”

“I can’t lose him,” the desperation he felt saturated his thin and strained voice.

“Lose who? Who are you talking about?”

“Severus.”

Her breath caught and it was a moment before she could ask, “Tell me what happened.”

“He got sick … and had to go away.”

That sounded terribly similar to what had happened to Anthony. No wonder Harry was distraught.

“Was he injured?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

Harry waved his hand and warded the small room, his ward being ten times the strength of any Muffliato charm. Then he peered cautiously at her with emerald eyes, “You promise you can’t repeat any of this.”

“Not a word. What you say to me is confidential. I would never … I could never repeat a single word of it.”

They stared at each other in utter silence. Finally Harry spoke softly, “He had a breakdown.”

The room was silent but for the sound of Helena quietly closing her notepad and slipping it into the outside pocket of her valise.

“All right Harry,” she spoke in a tone of quiet strength, “let’s start at the beginning.”

~~~~~SH~~~~~

A strike team made up of Aurors and Order members was staged around the perimeter of Voldemort’s manor, hidden by a Disillusionment charm; they were poised and ready to attack.

When the signal was given, they began to Apparate simultaneously into the various rooms of the manor; nearly three dozen wizards and witches in total infiltrated every corner of the massive building.  

Remus headed the group that Apparated into the drawing room. Standing in a circle with their backs to each other, they had their wands drawn — ready to do battle.

“What the hell?” he stared dumbfounded at the empty room.

“What’s going on?” sounded a voice from the foyer.

“Is this a joke or something?” echoed another voice from the second floor hallway.

After about thirty seconds Remus relaxed his stance and indicated for his team to do likewise.

Bill Weasley walked through the double doors then stopped and stared at Remus in disbelief. “I think we’re a tad late.”

~~~~~SH~~~~~